Last evening wasn’t a very good one. As I headed out from work, I found myself crying uncontrollable as I commuted back home. (Yes, I did get many what do you think you’re doing kind of stares). I think it had something to do with hormones or some recurrent personal issues that are not only beyond my control, but also somehow manage to upset me more each time it recurs. Basically all I wanted to do was curl up and die so I did the second best thing, I curled up and passed out crying. I often get a lot of slack from loved ones for not being the type who reaches out when I am off. I have improved now and do give the occasional SOS call to my BFF or BF but this was definitely not one of those days.
It was warm and balmy and I felt as if each last ounce of volition in me has found its way out of my body. I laid there in the darkness, as I drifted in and out of sleep between violent sobs and nauseatingly self-piteous voices in my head. *barf* I was glad that none of my roomies were there to see my waterworks.
Somewhere past seven, I woke up to many MANY missed calls and called back my Bf to find that he was heading over to meet me. (He did not have a clue that I was having a minor depressive episode. But then again not that telling him that would make him change his plans anyway.) I left the dark orb of my bed and begrudgingly washed my now swollen face and smeared make-up and headed downstairs to see him.
And there he was, standing in the happy yellow shirt we bought on his last birthday, towering above most people around, waiting for me like any other time, like there was nothing wrong with the world. I walked towards him, the evening breeze ruining my hair furthermore and he smiled and took my hand in his wordlessly. The warmth from his palm seeped through to every aching atom in my being and just like that, I felt whole again.